


squeeze me baby (till the juice runs down my leg)

by shir_hashirim



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Embarrassed Sam Winchester, Enthusiastic Dean Winchester, Fingerfucking, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Preseries, Sam has a pussy, Trans Sam Winchester, Virgin Sam Winchester, Weecest, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shir_hashirim/pseuds/shir_hashirim
Summary: Under the harsh glare of the bright bathroom lights, Sam’s horrified to find that there’s a large damp spot on the crotch of his gray sweatpants, and it’s sticky to the touch.He got so wet from sitting on his big brother’s lap that he fucking soaked himself all the way through his pants.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 141





	squeeze me baby (till the juice runs down my leg)

It’s a Friday night, and their dad’s not home, so Sam and Dean settle in to watch a movie. The house they’re staying at is small and rundown, not even big enough to have a couch in the living room. Instead, a single old beat-up recliner sits in front of the tiny TV.

They tried squishing on it together, but it definitely wasn’t big enough to fit both of them. After a round of rock, paper, scissors (which Sam wins, obviously), he gets to take the couch, while Dean settles on the floor next to him with a blanket.

It’s cold as hell outside, and the heater rattles loudly as it tries to warm up the tiny house as best as it can. About halfway through the movie, Dean starts complaining.

“Ah come on, Sammy, the floor’s too damn cold. We should get to switch places halfway through or something.”

“No way, you lost fair and square. Now shut up and watch the movie, you’re the one who picked this one out in the first place.”

It’s some old 60’s movie about pool players in New York City, but Sam hasn’t really been paying attention. He _already_ has to hustle pool with Dean and their dad to make money, so why the hell would he want to watch a movie about it? The only upside to the movie is that the lead actor is pretty hot in the old Hollywood kind of way, but he’s certainly not about to tell Dean that.

Sam shifts down into the recliner and tries to tuck his blanket around himself more snugly. It really is freezing in here. He _hates_ New England weather, and hopes that as soon as their dad gets back they can get the hell out of Massachusetts. 

Dean doesn’t stop complaining, and eventually gets up so he can sit on the arm of the recliner. It’s really annoying, and his blanket keeps getting in Sam’s face.

“Dean, stop. Get off there. That can’t even be comfortable,” Sam whines.

“You’re right, it is pretty uncomfortable,” Dean replies. He gets up, and Sam is relieved, thinking he’ll just go sit back on the floor. Instead, Dean plops himself down right onto Sam’s lap.

“Hey, what the hell? Get off me, you’re fucking heavy,” Sam huffs, trying to push him off.

“I’ll make you a deal, Sammy. Either I sit on you, or you sit on me, okay?”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” Sam scoffs. “You _really_ want me to sit on your lap?”

“Yeah sure, why not? Would be more comfortable than the ground. Besides, it’ll probably keep me warmer too,” Dean shrugs casually.

Sam considers it for a moment. It sounds like a really stupid idea, and might just be a ploy for Dean to steal his spot. But still, it would stop Dean from all his complaining, and part of him inexplicably _wants_ to sit on Dean’s lap. It’s something they used to do when Sam was really little, but they stopped after a while, after too many times being told off by their father.

“Fine, sure. Whatever,” Sam says, as casually as he can manage.

He gathers up his blanket and gets off the recliner so that Dean can sit down in his spot. Dean settles in, handing Sam his own blanket.

“Here— you can have my blanket too. Just drape ‘em over both of us,” Dean says. He spreads out his legs slightly and pats his lap invitingly for Sam to sit down.

Sam’s stomach lurches involuntarily, and he swallows hard. He knows Dean didn’t mean to be suggestive about it, but he can’t help himself from thinking that way. He’s _sick_. He crawls into Dean’s lap, feeling guilty.

With the blankets over them, their position doesn’t look that intimate, but under the cocoon of the blankets, Sam can feel _every_ point where he and Dean are pressed up against each other under the thin layers of their sweatpants. _Jesus_ , Sam’s not even wearing underwear right now. All of his pairs are dirty, and he figured it wouldn’t be a big deal since all he’s been doing today is lounging around the house.

Now he’s sitting on top of Dean’s thighs, his back pressed up against Dean’s stomach. He’s so _warm_ and _soft_ and— Sam stops himself from thinking, tries to put his attention back onto the movie.

After a few minutes pass, Dean reaches out and strokes Sam’s hair, and it’s all Sam can do to not shiver under his touch.

“Your hair’s getting so long,” Dean comments, running his fingers through the thin strands.

He touches Sam so confidently, so assuredly. Like he has just as much a right to touch Sam’s hair as he would his own. Sam guesses he sort of _does_. He’s all Dean’s, more than he wants to admit.

“Yeah. I— I like it that way,” Sam says, trying to keep his voice even.

“Suits you,” Dean hums, still touching Sam’s hair absentmindedly.

Sam tries his best to stay still, but between Dean’s hand on him and his warm thighs directly underneath him, he can’t help himself from squirming a little bit. His stomach is all twisted up, and he can feel himself getting wet. He squeezes his thighs closed as best as he can, mortified at the thought that it could run down his leg, no underwear to catch it. The wetness continues to slowly pool out from him against his will.

He tries to cross his legs, but that causes him to move up closer to Dean, and his ass brushes against Dean’s cock ever so slightly. Sam freezes, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice, or at least he doesn’t seem to care. Sam stays there for a while, staring absently at the TV and not absorbing anything that’s happening on the screen.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean questions.

“M’fine,” Sam mumbles. “Actually— lemme get off for a second, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Sure thing, Sammy. Bring me a fresh soda on your way back, will ya?” Dean asks, finally taking his hand out of where it’s tangled up in Sam’s hair.

He gets up quickly, tossing the blankets to Dean and walking over to the bathroom.

Under the harsh glare of the bright bathroom lights, Sam’s horrified to find that there’s a large damp spot on the crotch of his gray sweatpants, and it’s sticky to the touch. 

He got so wet from sitting on his big brother’s lap that he fucking soaked himself all the way through his pants.

Sam feels so disgusted with himself, but does what he can to wipe himself clean with toilet paper. His hands are clammy and shaky and he doesn’t know how he’s gonna make it through the rest of the movie. Maybe he can just tell Dean that he’d rather sit on the floor or something.

He leaves the bathroom, not wanting to make Dean wait for him too long. His heart stops in his chest when he realizes Dean has turned off the TV for some reason, and he’s turned the light in the living room on. Completely forgetting to grab Dean a drink like he told him to, Sam walks back over to the recliner.

“Hey Dean. Why’d you turn the movie off?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean is staring down at his lap and Sam realizes quickly what he’s looking at. There’s a large wet spot on the top of Dean’s sweatpants, clearly fresh. It’s even slightly _shiny_ under the light. Sam’s stomach drops, mortified.

“I just turned the light on to look for the remote,” Dean says absently. He seems to be in shock.

“Dean— I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, it just— you— I don’t know,” Sam says, choking over his words helplessly.

“It’s fine,” Dean starts, still looking dazed. He shakes his head as if in an attempt to focus himself. “Just wanted to ask, like— is it a health thing? I’m sure we could find a gynecologist around here somewhere if you have like, I don’t know, a yeast infection or something.”

“Jesus, Dean. No I don’t have a _yeast infection_ ,” Sam replies, completely bewildered. He honestly wouldn’t have even guessed that Dean knew what a yeast infection _was_. His cheeks feel warm and he’s so embarrassed and caught off guard that he just blurts out the truth without thinking. “I got _wet_ because I was sitting on your lap and because I’m a fucking _freak_.” 

He lets out a little laugh, feeling absolutely crazy. He can’t believe this is happening to him right now.

Dean looks up at him, expression intense but unreadable. His eyes are dark.

“So, lemme get this straight. You got wet… because of _me_?” he asks carefully.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Sam mumbles quietly, averting his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can get you some new pants, and— and I’ll do all the laundry this week, and—”

Dean interrupts him before he can say anything else.

“Sammy— I said it’s _fine_ ,” Dean says. “Look at me.”

Sam looks back over at him hesitantly, his heart pounding in his chest. Dean’s face is red, but he holds Sam’s gaze steadily, looking at him so intensely that Sam feels like his knees are going to give out at any second.

“Do I _look_ disgusted?” Dean asks, voice breathy and deep.

Sam shrugs, not sure exactly what’s going on here. Without taking his eyes off of him, Dean runs his hand up his own thigh slowly, feeling out the wet spot with his fingertips. Mesmerized, Sam watches as Dean rubs two of his fingers into the spot, as if he’s trying to collect as much of it as he can. He lifts the hand up to his lips.

Sam somehow only registers what Dean’s about to do as he opens his mouth, putting his wet fingers onto his tongue and sucking on them. He finally breaks eye contact with Sam to close his eyes, as if the taste of Sam is so overwhelming that he just can’t control himself.

“Oh my god,” Sam chokes out, his voice shaky.

“You taste so good, Sammy,” Dean marvels, pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop.

Sam doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He’s never even had sex before, never done anything besides play with himself sometimes, always imagining far-fetched scenarios and fantasies where Dean might actually want him. Now, all his fantasies pale in comparison to the real thing in front of him. Dean, who is looking at him with such clear desire in his eyes, who apparently loves the way he _tastes_.

He walks over to Dean, drawn towards him like a magnet, and sits back down on his lap, this time facing Dean so that he’s straddling him. Sam can’t stop trembling, but Dean reaches over to touch him, placing steady hands against Sam’s hips and pulling him in closer.

Sam lunges forward and kisses him, getting the faintest taste of himself still left over on Dean’s tongue. He grinds into Dean as they make out, hips jutting forward underneath Dean’s hold on them. Dean’s spit tastes weirdly _good_ and Sam can’t get enough, wanting to just swallow it all, to stay there forever with their lips pressed together.

Dean’s hard underneath him, which just spurs Sam on further, rubbing himself all over his brother’s cock. The friction alone isn’t quite enough for Sam, though.

“Touch me,” Sam gasps, pulling one of Dean’s hands over to the waistband of his sweatpants. 

Dean reaches inside carefully, and groans when he realizes that Sam’s not wearing any underwear.

“Fuck, no wonder you leaked all over me,” he pants out in between kisses.

He reaches down into the thick thatch of Sam’s pubic hair, and Sam’s already wet enough again that he’s dripping, the hair damp and slick. Dean rubs searching fingers along the outside of his pussy, teasing him gently. He presses his fingers down ever so slightly, and Sam immediately pushes his hips into the touch. Dean’s fingertips brush against his clit and Sam gasps.

“Dean, please,” he whines, louder than he meant to be.

“Yeah baby, I got you,” Dean says, stroking Sam’s clit. His movements are strong and purposeful, and his fingers are soaking wet.

“You— you can go faster,” Sam gasps, fisting his hands into Dean’s shirt. “I like it that way. When I touch myself.”

“Of course you like it fast,” Dean murmurs affectionately, leaning in to kiss Sam again. “You think about me when you touch yourself?”

Sam chokes on his response as Dean speeds up his motions, fingers working in small, fast circles. 

“All the time,” he cries. “Would think about you t-touching me, putting your mouth on me, doing whatever you wanted to me.”

Dean groans, and comes in his pants right then— just from getting Sam off and from hearing him _talk_.

“Shit,” Dean gasps. “You’re so fucking _hot_ , Sammy. Just couldn’t help myself.”

Sam’s so turned on he can barely think straight, riding himself on Dean’s fingers and chasing his own orgasm. He feels the hot burst building up in his stomach and moans as he comes. He shuts his eyes, completely overwhelmed by the sensations.

Dean rubs him through it, as Sam feels pleasure course over him in waves. He withdraws his tacky, coated fingers from Sam’s sweatpants and Sam opens his eyes just in time to watch as Dean sticks his tongue out to lick at them. He looks obscene, fingers glistening with Sam’s wetness and his own spit.

“You really have _no idea_ how good you taste,” Dean says, breathless and grinning. “Will you let me?”

“Let you what?” Sam asks, playing dumb. He just wants to hear Dean say it.

“ _God_. Can I eat your pussy, please?” Dean pleads desperately. 

“Yeah, of course,” Sam says, his voice rough. 

Dean surges up, lifting Sam with him out of the recliner before flipping them over so that Sam’s the one on the chair. He sinks to his knees in front of Sam and puts his hands back on Sam’s waistband, eyes looking up at him for approval. Sam nods, lifting up his hips so Dean can pull his pants down. 

He expects Dean to just let them pool at Sam’s ankles, but he takes them all the way off, leaving Sam completely naked except for his t-shirt. He presses his legs together, self-conscious.

Dean gently coaxes his legs back open, nestling himself in between them, and rubbing his hands up and down Sam’s inner thighs. Sam shudders under Dean’s touch, feeling even _more_ turned on. If that’s even possible for him at this point. He spreads his legs to make more room, and Dean moves in closer. Sam can feel Dean’s hot breath on him— coming out in short, panting gasps.

Dean leans in and fucking _smells_ Sam right in between his legs and it shouldn’t be hot but it _is_. He keeps his nose buried there for a few seconds before withdrawing. Sam barely has time to register as Dean moves back in, this time licking a hot wet stripe up Sam’s pussy. 

Sam’s absolutely _soaked_ at this point, and he can feel Dean lapping up as much of the wetness as he possibly can. He reaches down, desperately trying to grip his hands into Dean’s short hair, scratching at his scalp. Dean seems to like that, and lets out a low groan. Sam moves a hand to the back of Dean’s head and shoves him in deeper.

He’s sure that Dean is probably barely even able to _breathe_ down there, but it doesn’t slow him down at all. He eats Sam out wildly, clearly having some experience at this. For a minute, Sam’s heart pangs in jealousy— that Dean’s done this so many times before, been with so many girls. But then, Dean puts his whole mouth over Sam’s clit and sucks down on it hard, and suddenly Sam’s worries don’t seem as important anymore.

_Fuck all those other girls. Dean loves me the most._

He feels it so fiercely and strongly he knows it _must_ be true. That there’s _no way_ he can feel this strongly about Dean without him feeling the same way too.

Sam can feel himself edging closer to orgasm again, Dean’s tongue working over his pussy _everywhere_ , fucking up into him and licking him up and making him feel so _good_ that his vision is starting to blur.

Dean pulls back briefly and looks up at Sam from between his legs, his expression awed. Like he’s in the middle of some kind of religious ecstasy. His hair is all messed up from where Sam’s been grabbing at it, and his entire chin is _drenched_.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, raw and hoarse.

He dips his head down, and quickly after he gets his tongue back on him, Sam comes, his legs trembling and jerking helplessly. His whole body tenses up, overcome with sensation, and it’s just so _hot_ and _filthy_ and Sam’s _never felt this good in his entire life._

He’s still panting and gasping for air when Dean surges up to cup Sam’s face in both of his hands and kisses him again, his mouth tasting like salt and sweat and _Sam_.

Sam whines into his mouth, kissing back with everything he has. Trying desperately to wordlessly convey to Dean how _grateful_ he is. That he’s fucking _ruined_ , because nobody else could ever possibly compare to _this_.

Dean breaks their kiss and rests his forehead against Sam’s, giving them both a chance to try to catch their breaths.

“Jesus, Sammy,” he says after a few minutes in comfortable silence. “That was— wow. Yeah.”

Sam grins at him. “Yeah?”

“I _really_ need to go change my sweatpants now,” Dean laughs, looking down at the soaked fabric. “Should probably go take a shower too.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam says, his voice loaded with suggestion. He bats his eyelashes innocently. “Unless you’d rather just finish watching the movie instead?”

Dean looks at him with a smirk. He tugs Sam up out of the recliner and pulls him towards the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic in one day while I'm already in the middle of working on another fic... I was simply possessed by the power of Sam's pussy and I couldn't help myself. My other fic series that I'm writing is a lot slower paced so it was nice to get this out of my system!
> 
> Sam is too horny to even learn what the movie that they're watching is called, but if anyone's interested, it's _The Hustler_ (1961) starring Paul Newman who's a very hot Hollywood actor. Dean actually references this movie on the show in s15 ep11 hehe!
> 
> Title is from "The Lemon Song" by Led Zeppelin. :)


End file.
